April is the Cruelest Month
by Katie Havok
Summary: "You should have told me," he says flatly, and Tina tilts her chin in challenge. "Why? So you could fret over it and cause us both to be nervous?" She pecks his lips to take the sting out of her words. "This way, you could do what needed to be done, and I could deal with it. Which I have." Tina kisses him again, a little bolder.


Warning: _**smut!**_ This was originally published on Ao3 on February 3rd, 2017 and is being shared here for the sake of my own ego.

* * *

Queenie is in the middle of levitating the roast to the table, wand loosely held between her fingers when an arrhythmic knock sounds at the door. Eyes widening as she loses focus on the food, Tina just barely manages to save it with a well-timed spell. Queenie's eyes go distant and hazy before she blinks and turns her serious gaze to Tina.

"Get the door," she orders, and Tina doesn't question it. She yanks the door open and there's a blistering tell-off on her tongue. Her ire wilts when she sees who's on the other side.

He's wearing his typical blue coat and yellow waistcoat, his preferred suit the precise color of freshly turned earth, and his hands are curiously empty. Newt's eyes take the measure of her face for only a moment before seeking out and finding Queenie. Their gazes lock. Tina tries not to feel hurt by this, but can't quite stifle her irritation. Newt turns his eyes back to her eventually, and his smile is a shadow of its former self when he brings it forward—closer to a grimace.

"Tina," he murmurs, and that's different too. He sounds husked-out and _exhausted_ , and the dark shadows on his face confirm the state of his voice. He clasps her hand and brings it to his lips, dropping a kiss on her knuckles before sighing. That, at least, is stable and _normal_ , and she clings to it with desperation.

Newt touches her elbow as he moves past her, and allows Queenie to envelop him in a hug. "Oh, baby," she coos, and her face is appropriately sympathetic to whatever thought she'd plucked from Newt's mind. "Teenie and I usually have plans for Friday night but I can see you need her, so I'll go." She bends to kiss him on the forehead, and he doesn't blush or dissemble. Tina gamely tries to swallow her trepidation.

Queenie turns to Tina and inclines her head, raising her eyebrows before pulling on her coat and sweeping toward the door. "I'll stay at Jacob's," she hisses on her way out. She pulls Tina into a hurried hug and exits, and Tina and Newt listen to the clatter of her heels down the stairs.

Tina turns to him, and he stares back at her for countless seconds. Then he jolts himself and looks around, seemingly at a loss. Tina sighs and gestures to the table. "We were about to eat," she says tiredly. "Won't you join me, Mr. Scamander?"

He gives her a long, measured look, then stares at the table. He deflates as he pulls out her chair and gestures for her to sit. "Of course, Tina."

* * *

The roast is moist and juicy, the potatoes rich with milk and butter. In Tina's mouth, it all tastes like ashes.

Newt talks little and eats less, pushing his food around as he fiddles with his napkin and drums his fingers and very intentionally _does not_ look at her. Tina employs a bit more force than necessary when she uses her wand to clean up, very intentionally wrapping his food for later, and his mouth curves into a miserable bow when he chances a look at her.

"This isn't how I wanted this to go," he mumbles, and Tina restrains the urge to kick him under the table. Instead, she takes a few measured breaths and just looks at him, giving him the chance to speak. He self-consciously brushes the tips of his fingers over his nose before looking around. His eyes land on the Victrola and he relaxes marginally. Newt stands with deliberate movements and hovers over her, meeting her eyes.

"Tina," he asks, holding his hand out. "Will you please come dance with me?" She keeps her face carefully neutral when she accepts, and his hand is comfortingly familiar as he guides her to the center of the sitting room. A careless flick of his fingers sees warm, slow music spilling from the horn. Newt places a hand on the small of her back and pulls her against him while his other one tangles with hers at their side. He leads them into a slow two-step, eyes never leaving her face.

"Why are you here?" she manages, after some of the tension has drained from his frame.

He guides her through a few steps before answering. From this close, Tina can see the alternating blue and gold of his eyes. "I have to go away." His voice is very soft, lower than a whisper. A few more steps, then: "I don't know when I'll be back. And I won't be able to write to you, it'll be much too dangerous for us both. I'm going on a mission. For the campaign against Grindelwald. It's all very secret."

Newt takes a careful breath and directs her into a turn. When Tina comes back around, he pulls her closer than before, the hand on her back holding her with a certain propriety. She can feel the small puffs of his breath on her jaw, and from here she can see that his cheeks are baby-smooth, an anomaly for him. His skin seems almost burnished. She wonders how it would feel beneath her fingers, and doesn't allow the thought to show.

"This past year has been remarkable," he continues after a time. "I have never known such positive companionship, and your letters are the highlight of my week." He carefully tips his head forward, so their foreheads just meet, and Tina notices for the first time that his hair doesn't hang in his eyes. _He's had a haircut_ , she thinks, and a fissure of fear works through her. Showing up announced, without his case, shaved smooth and with neat hair…

"This isn't goodbye," she says suddenly, loudly, and she feels him start against her. His eyes go very wide in his face, and he stops breathing. "It's not," she insists, and his breathing starts again, more rapid than before. She presses their foreheads closer, breathing in his scent of grass and sunshine, and his eyes are captivatingly green. "It can't be," she continues, softer than before. "We're just getting to know each other, and I..."

The concept is in her heart and her mind, but it is shapeless and without definition, larger than her, and she is too close to see it. Tina thinks he understands though, for he relaxes and closes his eyes briefly.

"I will do my level best to come back to you," he says finally, and there's conviction in his tone for the first time all evening.

"I'd like that," Tina replies and nods in emphasis. She watches him close his eyes while looking pained, and she presses closer in concern. "I'll be here," she manages, and it's a promise and a plea, all in one, and when his eyes finally open he looks at her the way he did _before_ , the first time they said goodbye.

Newt releases her fingers to raise a trembling hand, pushing her hair behind her ears and hovering over the soft skin of her cheek. He presses the tips of his fingers against her, very gently, and his eyes are full of wonder. "Tina," he says, and they stop dancing as the music winds down. They face each other in the silence of her sitting room, with his hand warm on her back and his body a solid line of heat at her front.

Tina sways forward, pulled into his orbit. They connect from hip to shoulder, and his eyes are nervous and earnest and warm. Newt drops his eyes to take in her mouth before raising them back up. They then fall her to her lips and remain there, firmly. Hungrily. Tina registers heat that has nothing to do with the warmth of the day, and she can see the shapeless emotion in the warmth of his regard.

"Kiss me," and she isn't sure he can hear her because she can barely hear herself, but she closes her eyes on faith and meets him halfway, unsure if he'll be there to catch her.

He is, and he does.

Newt sighs into it as their lips meet, and she can taste their meal and a bitter note she recognizes as whiskey, not unpleasant. Beneath that is a warm earthiness, a touch of spice that she decides is entirely Newt, and that is what she seeks. He teases her lips with his own, soft butterfly kisses that leave her wanting before he slants their mouths together and works at her. She reciprocates as he gulps, and she uses that opportunity to flick her tongue against his teeth until they part and let her in.

Newt's tongue is warm velvet, the inside of his mouth damp and hot. He makes another sound and winds around her, his hands rising to cup her head desperately. He moves closer and his jaw firms as he goes on the offense, attacking her mouth with vigor. Tina desperately tangles her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, deepening the kiss even more. When he finally breaks away with a gasp, they clutch at each other like souls floundering.

"Tina, what..." and he sounds winded as his chest heaves. Tina opens her eyes to discover that his are not wide in wonder, but half-lidded and glazed. His mouth has a swollen, bruised look, and he radiates hunger that has nothing to do with food. There is something indefinably feline about his posture and body language, so Tina shivers and shifts forward, pressing against him and watching his face contract briefly at the contact.

"I didn't come here for this," he insists when she drags his mouth to hers.

"No, you didn't," she answers against his lips, "But I'm not seeing you off without a proper farewell."

Newt _purrs_ at that, and his kiss is all tongue and lips, stealing the breath from her lungs as a new warmth works through her. He bands his fingers around her wrists, trapping her hands behind her back as he ravishes her mouth. He gentles the kiss, whiplash-quick, releasing her hands and trailing a line of tiny pecks over her face and jaw.

"Tell me to stop," he whispers into her ear, and she whines when he nips it. "Tell me to stop, and I will." His tongue flicks out to lavish the tender spots on her neck, and Tina hisses and curls her face into his shoulder. She uses her hands to press his smooth cheek into her skin, and he groans and nibbles her neck and ear.

"Don't stop," she enunciates clearly as her hands find the lapels of his suit coat. He sucks and nibbles her bottom lip while she works the coat over his shoulders and down his arms, and he hums when her trembling fingers find the buttons of his waistcoat. She hears him swallow as she loosens the top button, and then he steps back far enough to break contact, dropping his eyes to watch her hands.

"We don't have to do this," he manages, fists curled at his sides while she works his clothing. Tina doesn't answer, just pauses long enough to kiss him before continuing. Newt helps her ease the waistcoat off, and when she fingers his braces he pins her hands to his chest and kisses her, and kisses her, and kisses her until they are tangled and gasping.

"Yes, we do," she says, and she can see him struggling to remember what he had said before she stole the air from his lungs. He weighs this and then nods before allowing her to lower his braces. She kisses his firm shoulder through the cotton of his shirt, inhaling his scent of sweat and grass and sunshine, before dragging her palms down his arms.

Newt turns the tables on her by reaching for the buttons of her blouse. He hovers uncertainly over cool cotton until she takes his hands and brings them to her chest. He sighs and brushes the skin there with his fingertips, eyes fixed on her skin. Then he works the button free and brushes her lips, and he repeats his pattern for every button except the very last, choosing instead to drink from her mouth as the fabric settles around their feet. Tina melts into it, bare arms winding around him while she presses her palms to his arms.

He trails his lips over her throat when she loosens his shirt, her small hands parting the fabric to trace over his chest. She gasps at the unknown topography of pits and scars, holdovers from the war and his years spent in the field. Tina kisses him instead of asking questions, and when she tugs the shirt from his trousers and allows it to fall past his shoulders, he presses into her chest and wraps his arms about her, pulling her closer.

Tina gasps when their skin brushes, alight with sensation and contracting into herself until his kiss draws her back out. Her hands find his shoulders and dig in when he trails a damp tongue down her neck and the skin of her chest, anchoring herself to the sensation. She can feel his sides working like a bellows as he breathes, and his breath scorches her overly-sensitive skin.

Newt trails his fingers over her girdle, callouses catching on the silk strings. He looks nervous, when faced with this last barrier, and so Tina shifts and touches his hair gently. "We don't have to take it off," she says, realizing they both know it makes no difference. Newt kisses her in thanks. Then his fingers brush the button of her trousers tentatively, and Tina produces a liquid moan. He takes that for the assent it is, and before long her trousers are loose and his hand is inside them, cupping the flare of her hip, and the sounds he produces are far better than the ones she's dreamed.

Tina wiggles against him and Newt stops breathing for a moment. She can hear and feel his heart pounding, close to her ear, when he peels her trousers down, over her hips and lower still, until he cradles her ankle while working them off. He squats before her, and Tina stares down at him as he unfastens the buckles and laces of his boots before turning his attention back to her.

Newt's eyes are closed, lashes a dark fan against his cheek, when he places twin kisses on her silk-covered kneecaps. They remain closed as he trails shaking hands up her outer thigh, swirling into the muscle there, and his lips find her skin. He kisses, sucks, nibbles; purple marks rise where he nips, and Tina curls her fingers into his hair and scratches his scalp in encouragement. Newt kisses a slow trail upward until he's at the place where her hip meets her thigh, and he inhales _sharply_.

Tina feels him hesitate, and she drops her eyes to watch him. He raises his own chin to look at her, past the Eden nestled between her thighs and over the plane of her stomach, and Tina's legs quake with the intensity of his stare. He inhales sharply again, and Tina realizes that he's _scenting_ her, nose scant inches from her sex. Tina trembles, knees nearly coming unhinged as warmth spreads throughout her midsection.

Newt places both hands on either side of her mound, framing it in a roughly triangular shape, and purses his lips. He blows a steady stream of cool air over her overheated skin, and Tina's toes curl in reaction. Her head lolls forward helplessly while her fingers wind and tighten in his hair. He does it again until his air runs out, then gasps and presses his face into her thigh, trembling overheated breaths into her skin.

Tina tugs at his hair, "Come up here."

He rises, knees cracking, and allows her to hold him. Newt trembles in her arms as she smoothes over his back and shoulders until he finds her mouth. He catches her wrist and guides her hand to the placket of his trousers, wordlessly encouraging her explorations. She opens them without ceremony, reaching within to loosen the buttons of his underwear and swallowing his gasps. She feels him shift to toe off his boots as Tina shoves everything down his thighs until he can step out of them, bared to the air and to her.

Tina keeps her gaze on a neutral patch of skin while she slides her hand between them. He's tense and trembling now, and she infuses her touch with as much confidence as possible when she skates over the small of his back and lower, to brush his behind. Her Newt moans into her mouth when she grasps his hips firmly, and he pants as she rakes blunt fingernails over the plane of his stomach. She rubs and brushes his thighs and then back up over his stomach, his chest, to encircle his shoulders.

Newt tenses as he reaches around to clasp her, and without a word he urges her back two steps until she connects with the wall. The air is forced from her lungs and he takes it into himself, kissing her deeply while lifting her leg to wrap around his waist. He slings an arm around her hips as she clings to him, panting with need. His other hand impacts the wall beside her head, hard enough to echo.

"Last chance to stop this," he hisses against her mouth, his tongue curling deliciously against her lips.

Tina twitches her hips in lieu of answering and reaches between them to where he juts proudly, hot against her skin. She encircles him with her hand and Newt chokes. She strokes him curiously, and he is taken with a violent tremor. Tina tugs him and he follows, until they're crushed together and she can feel him butting against her. Tina tightens her leg around his waist when he catches her eyes, his gaze questioning and hopeful.

"Do it," she says, her hands propelling him forward. Newt searches her face one last time before winding himself around her, steeling them both. Then he breathes deeply and _jolts_ his hips forward, a thrust calculated to fill her in one move—where he freezes and expels a shocked breath, nearly recoiling from her in horror.

Tina cries out with the shock of invasion, upset by the unexpected _stretch_ of it rather than any physical pain. Her maidenhead concedes to defeat with a small twinge as Newt seats himself, and Tina has to think very fast. She knots her fingers at the small of his back and digs her heel in, preventing him from withdrawing while leaning forward to kiss the column of his throat.

"Newt," she says, a little frantically. "It's okay, it's fine. I'm not hurt."

Tina can feel his horrified gaping so she presses more fully against him, mumbling frantically. Newt trembles violently but otherwise remains perfectly still. She can hear and feel his swallow. "Tina, I'm sorry, I didn't know," he rasps, and when she looks at him she finds his eyes are vulnerable and very damp. She reaches out to brush his tears away and gives him her strongest smile.

"It's okay," she says again. She takes a deep breath and he matches it, exhaling with her. They do this together until his trembling stops, and Tina brushes the tips of her fingers down his throat, fascinated with the goosebumps that trail behind her touch. Newt shivers and catches her hand, placing a kiss on her palm before threading their fingers.

"You should have told me," he says flatly, and Tina tilts her chin in challenge.

"Why? So you could fret over it and cause us both to be nervous?" She pecks his lips to take the sting out of her words. "This way, you could do what needed to be done, and I could deal with it. Which I have." Tina kisses him again, a little bolder. She focuses on where they are joined and tightens around him. Newt inhales sharply, eyes going wide, so she does it again. His eyes narrow and flinch before turning heavy-lidded, and Tina smiles in triumph.

"That's it," she encourages him. The arm around her waist tightens, fingers digging into her skin. Tina uses what little leverage she has to rock, causing him to slide within her, and he captures his bottom lip. Tina leans forward to displace his teeth and nibble on his mouth, and she infuses her voice with wonder. "The deed is done," she whispers and wraps her arms around his shoulders. "Please just love me, Newt."

He releases a long, shaky sigh and presses his face into her neck, his other hand finding and tangling in her hair. "Anything for you," he mutters and begins to move.

The first slide of his hips is a little clumsy, a bit awkward, and it provokes an achy tenderness that causes her to clench her jaw. The second slide is firmer, with much more confidence, and the achy tenderness is transformed into an achy _hollowness_ , one she's familiar with; the third slide sees friction, delicious friction, and the fourth has Tina's head rolling back and hitting the wall with an audible thunk.

Newt's watching her face carefully, and when her head falls back he graces her with a small smile before leaning in to nibble her jaw. "That's it, Tina," he says, twining his arm through the leg wrapped around him, changing the depth and angle of his thrusts. "There should be no pain, it should— _ah_ —it should just feel good."

Tina rolls her head forward, distracted by the molten heat in her core. "It does," she assures him with a shaky nod. "It feels good. _You_ feel good." He groans at that, and she kisses the sound away. "It's like what I do to myself, only better because it's you." Newt groans again, and Tina places her lips on his throat so she can taste it.

Newt's head falls back, allowing her access to his neck and shoulder, and Tina attaches herself to him. She nibbles and suckles and bites, and she feels his gasps and moans transmitted to her through his skin. His hips rock against her in steady waves, fanning the flames he's awakened within, but before long a tremble takes him that has nothing to do with sex. He rocks to a halt, panting.

"Sorry, but neither of us will be satisfied against this wall. Do you...would you mind terribly if I moved us to someplace more comfortable?" Tina shakes her head, and Newt shifts his hold on her. "Here, put your other leg around me—yes, like that. I'll get us there." He cranes his head to look over his shoulder, and Tina subtly directs him toward the bed, less than five paces away and with ample room for them both. He sees it and nods.

Newt directs her arms around his shoulders and draws her legs up, so they aren't dangling. Then he takes a few quick, deep breaths, laces his hands beneath her bottom, and lifts—still lodged firmly within her as he spins them away from the wall and across the room. He deftly weaves through their trail of clothing and within moments he's depositing her on the bed, hard enough to crush them together, to press the air from her lungs and impel himself deeply inside her.

They groan in unison as Tina shifts her legs and Newt urges their bodies further onto the bed. He braces himself with his arms and grasps her thigh, nipping at her with his teeth as he begins to move. He rolls his hips to test their rhythm before settling into long, firm runs that feed the banked heat within. Tina can do little more than lie back and enjoy it, his dappled kisses and encouraging murmurs spurring her higher. He shifts them eventually, rocking her pelvis so his strokes sink even deeper, creating a magnificent pressure, and before long Tina finds herself scaling an invisible peak.

"Newt," she hisses between clenched teeth, and his mouth finds her nipple and suckles. She keens, her hands balling into the sheets. "Newt, yes—don't stop. Please, please don't stop loving me." She feels him nod and gasp, feels his mouth draw shaky halos over her skin as she tightens and coils. He uses his fingers to wind her tighter still, and Tina keens when the first pulse of heat flares through her.

"I do," he whispers against the shell of her ear, his pace increasing to spur her along. "Tina, I do. I couldn't stop if I tried." He swaps words for kisses, and the heat in her stomach uncoils and lashes outward, searing along her limbs and fingers. She hears him breathe her name as she trembles beneath him, and his tender ministrations see her through to the end.

Tina returns to herself in stages, to find him watching her, hips temporarily stilled. He meets her eye to kiss her deeply before tracing her lips with a finger, his gaze watchful. Tina is unsurprised to find him within her, unsatisfied. She tilts her head and he smiles softly and ducks his eyes. "I wanted to watch you. It was lovelier than I imagined it would be." He cards his fingers through her hair before releasing a pent breath, hips twitching against her in question.

Tina winds her arms around him and stretches her legs, feeling the twinge of lost circulation. Newt grunts when she displaces him accidentally, but her sudden giggles render her unable to observe his reaction. Instead, strong arms pull her into his lap as he takes a seated position, arranging her legs astride him until they are facing each other. Tina positions herself above him while Newt guides, and when he fills her once more, she finds that this stretch doesn't sting but invigorates.

They rock together to find their rhythm until Tina takes control and sets the pace. She moves against him and swallows his small sounds, which turn into larger sound, which transmutes into him clutching her as though he is drowning. Tina uses her hands and body to find the cracks in his shell, to peel them back and amplify them, until Newt fractures. When the faults multiply and spread and he comes apart, trembling her name, she uses her mouth and hands to put him back together.

Tina observes his face, the line of his jaw and cheek, the way his eyes darken as he spills into her, and carefully commits these sights to memory.

They remain tangled together until the sweaty slide of skin-on-skin becomes unbearable. Newt helps her up even though he's shaking badly himself, and she grimaces at the sticky fluids that trickle down her thighs. Newt cleans her with a snap of the fingers, and she smiles in thanks. Newt stands and kisses her, there besides the bed, until she's weak in the knees. Then he smiles softly and helps her pick up their clothes, gloriously naked and reveling in it.

Newt glances at the clock, as quickly and surreptitiously as he can, and Tina follows his eyes. "What time do you have to leave?" Her voice is carefully neutral, and she's proud of herself for that. Her heart feels like it's breaking in her chest but she doesn't allow it to show. Newt looks at his feet, his restless fingers picking at his own cuticles before he straightens his back and approaches her.

"Three hours," he murmurs, and his hands rest lightly on her shoulders. "I would like to spend them with you, if I may." She nods her assent, and he brushes his mouth against her ear before leading her back to bed. He tucks them against the headboard and allows the blankets to pool around their waist.

They pass the time by talking, with the occasional break, when the urge becomes overwhelming, to kiss or touch. Newt speaks of his childhood, of his mother's Hippogriffs and his brother's legendary war status; Tina speaks of her work with MACUSA, of Queenie and her love for Jacob, as solid and dependable as the earth. They talk about easy things and deliberately do not mention the looming war. Toward the end of the second hour, he requests that she sing for him, as she did so long ago in the case, and she does.

Tina starts with her school song, which he interrupts thrice to kiss her. She switches over to the slightly bawdy street songs she'd learned growing up, and he dresses slowly, with little enthusiasm. By the time she's pulled on a dressing gown and he is preparing his portkey, her throat is scratchy and her eyes burn with emotion. But still, she sings.

He stands by her sink, eyes bright with unshed tears, and his knuckles are white around the rusty rail tie being used as a portkey. He doesn't blink, eyes riveted to her face—he wants it to be his final sight before he swirls away into the unknown. When the spike turns blue Newt raises a hand in farewell. "Tina," he says urgently, and the last cracked note of her song wavers and bleeds in the air. "Tina, I—" Whatever he has to say is lost in the void.

There's only silence then, and an empty apartment that feels suddenly too large when Tina puts her face in her hands. She shudders until she feels some modicum of control return. Then she stumbles to her bed and tucks her face into the sheets that still smell like him.

She does not allow herself the strength of tears.

* * *

 _April is the cruelest month, breeding_  
 _Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing_  
 _Memory and desire, stirring_  
 _Dull roots with spring rain._


End file.
